Killer Instinct (32 page)

“The brooch? Nah, I can deal. Actually, I’m just glad I don’t have to look at the thing.”

She laughed, relieved, through her tears. “You really think it’s too late to return it?”

“They won’t be happy about it, but hey, I’m in sales. I’m sure I can persuade them to take it back.”

“What am I going to do about tomorrow?” she said. “I can’t uninvite Kurt, can I?”

I shook my head. “Better not to, I think.”

“I think it’s better for him to think everything’s normal.”

“Whatever normal is with him.”

“Well,” she said, “until you do whatever you do about him—and you need to do
something
—I just think it’s better to stay on his good side.”

45

Thursday afternoon Kate called me to ask me to pick up some Thai food for dinner. “Susie loves Thai food,” she said.

“Why don’t you ask Susie to pick it up?”

“She doesn’t have a car, you know that.”

“Oh, right. Is Kurt there now?”

“He just left. He already fixed the cable box, but he’s coming back around seven.”

“I’ll be home at six forty-five,” I said.

On the way home I picked up a book on medieval torture that I was fairly certain Ethan didn’t have. I was long past feeling guilty about aiding and abetting Ethan’s twisted obsessions. I also stopped at a cell phone store and bought a new cell phone, keeping the same phone number. I had no idea if it was even possible to bug a cell phone, but if so, I’d have to assume that Kurt had bugged mine.

I kissed and hugged Susie, who was making herbal tea for Kate in the kitchen. She was so deeply tanned she looked like she’d applied walnut stain. “Enjoying Nantucket?” I said. “You’ve really been out in the sun.”

“Me? Please. Clarins self-tanner. I hate the sun.”

“And where’s Ethan?”

“Upstairs reading.” She noticed the gift-wrapped book. “Is that for him?”

“The latest from the Torture-Book-of-the-Month Club.”

“Oh. Um, he’s not into torture anymore.”

“Hey, well, that’s good news.”

“Well, it’s not really an improvement,” she started to say, but Ethan had appeared in the kitchen doorway.

I went up to the kid and gave him a hug. “I bought you a book, but I guess I’m behind the curve. I hear you’re not interested in medieval torture these days.”

“I’ve become interested in cannibalism,” he said.

“Oh,” I said. “Well, I bet that makes for some fascinating dinner conversation.”

“I told him he should look into vampires,” Susie said, with an edge of hysteria. “There’s lots of books on vampires. Lots of excellent novels.”

“Vampires are for teenage girls,” Ethan said. “Did you know the Fore tribe in Papua New Guinea used to eat the brains of their deceased relatives, and that’s why they got this fatal disease called kuru?”

“That’ll teach you not to eat your relatives’ brains,” I said, wagging my forefinger sternly.

“Who’s this friend who’s coming over for dinner?” Susie asked.

“He’s—he’s an interesting guy,” I said. I looked at my watch. “He’s late.”

“Is that dinner?” Ethan asked, pointing at the oil-stained paper bags I’d just brought in.

“Yep,” I said. “Thai food.”

“I hate Thai food. Is there any sushi?”

“No sushi,” I said. “Sorry.”

“Mom, can I have Froot Loops for dinner?”

“Kurt’s late,” I said to Kate. “Should we just start eating?”

“Let’s wait a bit longer.”

I’d set up the Thai food in a kind of buffet on a table in the dining room. Kate was lying back on Grammy Spencer’s couch. She was now allowed to sit up, even get out of bed, so long as she lay down as much as possible.

She was tapping at the keyboard of her laptop. “Hey, you’re not going to believe this,” she said. “I just got an e-mail from the director of the Koerner gallery in New York. She loves Marie’s works. I mean,
loves
it. She compares her to Faith Ringgold—just like I told you! She thinks Marie’s going to be up there with Romare Bearden and Jacob Lawrence, and she’s throwing around names like Philomé Obin and Hector Hyppolite!”

“That’s wonderful,” I said.

At seven forty-five I tried Kurt’s cell, but there was no answer. I took out his business card from my wallet and got his office number and tried it, but there was no answer there either. I’d never called him on his home phone, just his cell, but I looked in the phone book, just in case. No Kurt Semko listed.

By eight, Susie and Kate and I started in on the skewers of chicken satay. At eight-thirty, the doorbell rang.

Kurt’s hair was wet, and he smelled like soap and looked like he’d just gotten out of a shower. “Sorry, man,” he said. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“Turned off your cell? After giving me all that grief?”

“Didn’t have it with me. Sorry.”

“I hope you don’t mind we ate already.”

“No worries. Can I join you anyway?”

“Of course.”

Ethan came down from his bedroom and said hello. “Are you a soldier?” he said.

“Was,” said Kurt.

“Do you know that when Napoleon’s army retreated from Russia they got so hungry they ate their own horses? And then they resorted to cannibalism?”

Kurt glanced at me quickly, then said, “Oh, sure. That also happened to the German soldiers during World War II. Battle of Stalingrad. Ran out of food, so they started eating their fellow soldiers. Dead ones, I mean. Talk about your military snafus.”

“That wasn’t in my book,” Ethan said. “I’m going to have to look into that. Soldiers and cannibalism.”

He followed me into the living room, where Kurt kissed Kate on the cheek. I didn’t know they were on kissing terms already, but I didn’t say anything. He shook Susie’s hand. “How’s the cable TV?” he asked Kate.

“You know,” Kate said, “I’ve noticed the reception is even better than it used to be. I mean, it’s digital cable, and it’s supposed to be perfect, but the analog channels were always a little fuzzy. Now they’re as good as the digital ones. Oh, there’s one satay skewer left—sorry—but there’s plenty of pad thai.”

I thought I heard my cell phone ringing in my study upstairs, but I ignored it.

Kurt took a paper plate and shoveled on pad thai, vegetables in garlic sauce, fried rice, beef salad. “I don’t know who wired the cable for you, but I changed the RF connection to S-video, and it’s way better. Now you’re taking advantage of the plasma.”

“I see,” Kate said. “Thank you.”

“Plus, I replaced the old four-way splitter with a powered signal amplifier/splitter—makes a big difference. Also the analog-to-digital converter hardware in this cable box was lousy—I went over to the cable company and swapped this out for a new box. They never tell you, but they have a much better one now. And I put in some nice silver-coated video cables. Really upgrades the picture.”

“You’re starting to sound like Phil Rifkin, may he rest in peace,” I said.

“How do you know all this stuff?” Susie marveled.

“Did a lot of the electronics in the Special Forces.”

“How are you at PowerPoint?” I asked.

“You were in the Special Forces?” Susie said. “Like, the Green Berets?”

“No one calls it that anymore,” Kurt said.

“The guys who looked for Osama bin Laden in Afghanistan?”

“Not me, but some of the SF guys, yeah.”

“Is it true you guys had him surrounded in Tora Bora but you had no orders to capture him so you had to stand by and watch as Russian helicopters landed and spirited him away to Pakistan?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Kurt said.

It definitely was my cell phone, and it was ringing again, a second or third attempt.

“He doesn’t have anything to drink,” Kate said. “Jason, could you go to the kitchen and get him a beer? We have Sam Adams, do you like that?”

“Just water. Tap’s fine.”

I went down the hall to the kitchen, and the wall phone rang.

“Jason? Jason—it’s Jim Letasky.” He sounded out of breath.

“Oh, hey, Jim,” I said, a little surprised that he was calling me at home. “Was that you on my cell just now?”

“Jason—oh, Jesus. Oh, my God.”

“What is it?”

“It’s—my God. My God.” He was breathing hard.

“What
is
it, Jim? You okay?”

“I was at this—this high-school gym in Waltham, I guess? Where Trevor and Brett play basketball? And—and—”

“And
what
? Something happen? Everything all right?”

“Oh,
Christ
. Jason, there was an accident.” He was crying. “Car accident. They’re—dead.”

“Dead? Who’s dead?”

“Trevor and Brett. He—Trevor was driving his Porsche real hard, and I guess he lost control—oh, man. This guy saw it happen. They went into the median strip and hit a guardrail and flipped over. The cops came and everything and…”

I felt unsteady. My knees buckled, and I sank to the kitchen floor, the phone receiver flying out of my hand, dangling on its cord.

After a minute or so of sitting there, in a state of shock, I got up unsteadily and hung up the phone. I sat on a kitchen chair staring into space, my mind racing. I must have sat there for five, maybe ten minutes.

Then I was jolted by Kurt’s voice. He stood in the kitchen doorway. “Hey, bro,” he said, peering at me curiously. “You okay?”

I looked up at him. “Trevor and Gleason were in a car accident,” I said. “Trevor’s car went out of control.” I paused. “They were both killed.”

Kurt seemed to take this in for a couple of seconds. Then his eyes widened. “You’re kidding me. This just happen?”

“They were on their way to basketball. Trevor was driving his Porsche. Car hit a guardrail and rolled over.”

“Oh, shit. Unbelievable.” His eyes were on mine. He didn’t glance away, nothing like that.

It felt like there was an icicle in my stomach, in my bowels. I shuddered.

That CD I’d listened to in the car about nonverbal communication. Kurt had recommended it to me. It was all about reading people’s faces to look for tiny changes in the facial muscles, little subconscious gestures we all make.

Even practiced liars.

It was the delay in Kurt’s reaction, a quick tightening of the muscles around the eyes. The way he lifted his chin, tilted his head back almost imperceptibly. A couple of rapid blinks.

He already knew.

“Huh,” I said.

Kurt folded his arms. “What?”

I smiled. A forced smile, but still a smile. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer couple of guys.”

Kurt watched my face, didn’t react.

I breathed in, breathed out. Kept the smile on. “Sometimes fate just lends a hand,” I said. “Kicks in when you need a little cosmic help.”

Kurt didn’t react.

“Couldn’t ask for a more convenient car accident.”

Kurt was watching my face, I could see that. Watching closely. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

He was reading me. Assessing me. Trying to determine whether I meant it. Whether I was really that cold-blooded.

Whether I was trying to manipulate him.

I relaxed my face. Didn’t want him to think I was trying to read him back. I looked down, wiped a hand across my forehead, brushed back my hair. Like I was deep in thought. “Let’s face it,” I said. “The guy was a cockroach, right? Both of them were.”

Kurt grunted. The kind of grunt that says you don’t agree, you don’t disagree.

“They could have caused me some serious problems,” I said.

After a pause, Kurt said, “Might have.”

“You watch out for me,” I said. “I appreciate that.”

“I don’t get what you’re saying,” Kurt said. I couldn’t read his expression.

“Are you absolutely positive,” I said very quietly, “that no one can ever find out?”

I didn’t look at him. I looked down, studied the tile.

Waited.

“Find out what?” he said.

I looked around the kitchen, as if checking to make sure no one was within earshot.

I looked up, saw the set of his mouth, a glint in his eyes. Not quite a smile, not a smirk. But something. An unspoken satisfaction. Irony, maybe.

“How’d you do it?” I said, even more quietly. Looked at the floor, then back up at him.

Five, ten seconds.

“You did something to his car, didn’t you?” I said. My stomach was flooded with something sour.

A bitter taste in my mouth. I felt something acidic rise.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kurt said.

I lunged for the kitchen sink and vomited.

Heaved, retched until there was nothing left in my stomach, and then kept going. The taste of acid and copper pennies in my mouth. Pinpoints of light hovered around my head. I felt as if I was going to pass out.

I could see Kurt standing beside me, his face looming grotesquely large. “You okay?”

Another wave of nausea hit me, propelling my head forward, down toward the sink. Nothing left in my stomach. Dry heaves.

I gripped the edge of the counter, the tile cold in my hands. Slowly I turned to face him, my face hot, everything around me too bright, tiny lights dancing in my peripheral vision. The stench of vomit rose up to assault my nostrils. I could smell undigested pad thai.

“You killed them,” I said. “You goddamn
killed
them.”